


Crystalline

by TheNarator



Series: Honor Among Thieves [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Kidnapping, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Threats, evil!cisco, protective!Len
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 12:59:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6117208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNarator/pseuds/TheNarator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Cisco recovers from his injuries, he talks with the nurse Len abducted to take care of him. The conversation makes a few things abundantly clear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crystalline

**Author's Note:**

> so who else is sick of how cisco gets treated by team flash? because i certainly am, and i feel like the way this season is going i would hardly blame cisco if it turned into his villain origin story. i pretty much started this series because i wanted cisco to have friends who are actually nice to him, so if you think len is a little out of character i'd just like to point to len's entire characterization on legends of tomorrow and silently skulk back to my bubble where all the villains think cisco is the greatest thing since sliced bread.

For a quartet of wanted criminal, Captain Cold and his gang lived in a surprisingly nice house. She supposed that must be one of the perks of being an extremely successful criminal; why get on the bad side of the law if you can’t spend your money on nice things? Not that she was entirely sure they’d spent money on this small mansion with a pond out back as big as the average ice skating rink, they could just as easily have killed whoever the previous occupants had been and moved in after disposing of the bodies. That being said, she couldn’t help but think they were a bit too well settled to just be squatting here.

Case in point, the room where she was currently sitting, which was so covered with the evidence of its inhabitant’s presence that one might be forgiven for thinking he’d lived there since childhood.

It wasn’t all that big, proportionally to the house, but it was of a decent size with a large closet and a king sized bed pushed up against the outer wall. The window overlooked the back yard, and sitting up in bed you had a clear view of the pond and the patio beside it, where a few vacant sun chairs were laid out. The walls were practically plastered with movie posters, and the bookshelf in one corner displayed an impressive DVD collection to compliment the massive wall-mounted TV that could be seen easily even lying down in bed. The large oak desk was covered in loose papers, schematics, what looked like the remnants of a disassembled computer and coffee stains that showed a complete disregard for the quality of the wood.

It was also covered in crystals.

They were scattered over every available surface like so much loose change, and mixed in among the various mechanical parts strewn across the desk. Great hunks of them were perched on the bookshelf in front of the DVDs, and smaller ones hung from the walls and ceiling on wires or strings. The window sill boasted quite a few of them, both sitting on the ledge and hanging down from above, and as the sunlight caught them they cast dancing points of light across the face of the man lying in the bed.

Had she not seen him murder her boss with her own eyes she would have said he looked innocent, lying there bathed in sunlight with the sparkles of the crystals playing around his soft features. His hair was spread out on the pillow like a halo around his head, and his eyes were closed in peaceful slumber. She wanted to hate him, truly she did, but he just seemed so helpless lying there asleep that she couldn’t help but feel a certain protectiveness toward him, just as she had when he'd been on the operating table. She tried to keep the dying screams of the ER Director in her mind, but it was difficult in this quiet, brightly lit house, surrounded by decadence and crystals. She could have killed him for what he’d done, and some part of her thought she probably should have, but she couldn’t have brought herself do it even if it had been perfectly safe.

It wasn’t safe though, and as if summoned by her thoughts of murder and revenge the sound of Heatwave’s boots stomping up the stairs made her jump. She sat up straighter in her chair, not wishing to let the slouch she had settled into betray that she had almost dropped into a light doze. It was not wise to fall asleep here.

“Is the kid awake yet?” Heatwave asked as soon as his head poked around the doorway. He was a bit red in the face, and he smelled of smoke and alcohol.

“No,” said the nurse, firmly but quietly, “and you should be glad he isn’t. He needs rest, and the more time he can spend asleep the better.”

Heatwave made a gruff noise, glowering, but retreated back down the stairs.

She looked back at the bed where her patient, Psychotech, was still sleeping soundly. If she tried to hurt him, or even failed to treat him properly, she knew perfectly well the rest of his gang wouldn’t hesitate to kill her.

Maybe it was Heatwave’s presence that had disturbed him, but a few moments after his footsteps on the stairs quieted Psychotech began to stir. His brow furrowed almost adorably as he pulled himself from his drugged sleep, and after a few complaining noises he finally blinked his eyes blearily open.

After spending a few moments adjusting to consciousness, Psychotech rolled his head to the side to look at her.

“Hiiiii,” he said, with a big, dopey grin. “What are you doing here?”

She opted for being as clinical as possible. “I’m here to do your post-op care,” she explained, trying not to let bitterness creep into her voice as she began to check his vitals. Captain Cold had . . . acquired, some equipment for her to use, and she tried not to think of where it had come from as she did a quick inspection of the readings.

“Oh,” said Psychotech, nodding, “I see. So, what’s the damage, doc?”

“I’m a nurse,” she corrected, “and your recovery is going to take a while. You’re not going to be walking further than the bathroom for a few days at least.”

“Something wrong with my legs?” Psychotech asked dubiously.

“No, but you’re going to rip your stitches,” she explained. “Give me your arm?”

“Ah,” he said, nodding again, then held out his arm. “That makes sense. I think. Why do I feel so . . . loopy?”

“That would be your pain meds,” she informed him, wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his upper arm. “You’re on some pretty heavy-duty ones. Quality stuff.”

As she began to inflate the cuff she very determinedly did not think of where Cold and his gang might have come by that kind of drugs.

“That’s Len for you,” said Psychotech, smiling fondly. “He always takes care of me.”

“Yeah,” she said after a moment’s hesitation, “He seems like a good-” she struggled for a word, “-boss, I guess.”

Psychotech frowned. “Len’s not my boss,” he said grumpily, “he calls the shots, but he’s not the boss of me.”

“Of course,” she said hurriedly, deciding that she’d rather avoid pissing him off. His gun was still propped up against the wall next to the bed. “My mistake.”

“That’s alright,” he said, his smile back and his tone friendly. “You didn’t know.”

His blood pressure wasn’t spectacular, but it would do for now. She pulled off the cuff, but hesitated to reach for the covers. She needed to check his bandages, but she wasn’t sure just exposing his stomach without warning was a good idea.

Psychotech seemed to notice her hesitation. “What?” he asked, and there was real concern in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

She swallowed, but there was no point in lying. “I need to check your wound,” she told him, “can I just-”

“Oh!” Psychotech exclaimed, and before she could reach for him he was pushing down the blankets and lifting up his nightshirt.

She gave him a weak smile and continued with her exam.

“Do you need to undo the bandages?” he asked as she ran her fingers delicately over the cloth, checking for swelling or excess heat.

“No,” she shook her head, “not until tomorrow. You’re not bleeding through though, and that’s a good sign.”

“That’s good,” he sighed, then suddenly began to squirm as she prodded at a point on his side. “That tickles!” he giggled, but made no move to stop her.

She pulled away, and he pushed down his shirt and replaced the blankets. Her examination thus completed, she wasn’t exactly sure what to do with herself. Psychotech seemed content to stare out the window, where Golden Glider was visible freezing the pond solid and skating leisurely around on it, spinning and twisting like a real figure skater. He looked very young, watching her with a strange kind of wonder in his eyes, as if there were no better experience in all the world than seeing her glide gracefully around the ice.

Unable to watch him any longer, the nurse went back to looking at the crystals. They weren’t just different shapes and sizes; many of them had color in them, either even or blotchy. The ones hanging from strings and wires were all rough, but most of the ones scattered on every available surface were cut. The cut ones sparkled like diamonds, and she might have thought they _were_ diamonds if they hadn’t been thrown around so casually amidst rougher versions of themselves.

One in particular caught her eye, a beautiful pink one hanging by a string. It was still rough, but the color was deep and even, and despite being uncut it still sparkled in the light.

“Do you like it?” came Psychotech’s voice suddenly. She jumped, whirling to look at him, only to find him staring at her with an expression of perfect innocence.

“What?” she asked, trying to calm her racing heart.

“The crystal,” he clarified. “You can have it, if you want.”

She hesitated a moment, wondering if she dared refuse. She didn’t want it, but she also didn’t want to be impolite, not to someone who could summon three murderers with a single yelp and was himself extremely dangerous. This didn’t feel like a trap though, and of the four of them he seemed the least inclined to hurt her now that he and his cohorts were no longer under threat. He was clearly the least violent of the group, and the most vulnerable. Maybe she could use that to her advantage.

“No thanks,” she said at last, trying to look meek and afraid, “I don’t really want anything that’s been . . . stolen.”

“I didn’t steal them!” he protested, and she jerked back in real fear, wondering if she’d offended him. “I made them!”

“What?” she asked, somewhere between confused and terrified, but when he heard the genuine anxiety in her voice the look on his face softened into apologetic, and she relaxed a little in her chair.

“They’re lab grown,” he explained more gently. “I have a workshop in the basement, I use them to make Lisa’s jewelry.”

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. This would be a risk, she knew, but she had to keep going.

“You’re smart,” she told him, and earned herself a pleased smile. “You’re very smart. I just don’t understand . . .”

“What?” he asked curiously, without a hint of suspicion.

“Why work with a guy like Captain Cold when you could have a real job?” she asked in a rush. “With what you can do you could get a _good_ job, one that pays well and doesn’t involve shootouts with the police.”

At this Psychotech frowned, not in anger but in confusion. “Why would I wanna leave Len? I told you, he takes care of me.”

“You don’t need him though,” she insisted. “You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you weren’t out committing crimes for him; the only reason you need to be taken care of is _because_ of him. You can take care of yourself, have real friends that don’t use you for-”

“Use me?” he cut her off, and she felt the blood drain from her face.

Now, he sounded angry.

“You think Len’s using me?” he continued, voice soft but tone dangerous. “I’ve had a ‘real job,’ as you so eloquently put it, and let me tell you something: _everyone_  uses people. Everyone.”

“You had a job?” she asked in bewilderment. Despite what she’d said she couldn’t really picture him behind a desk or in a lab, and if he’d had the kind of position that his skills would have afforded him she couldn’t imagine why he’d turned to a life of crime.

“Yeah,” he said bitterly, “and _friends_.”

He did not say the word ‘friends’ like it was a good thing.

“Why did you give that up?” she asked quietly.

Psychotech looked away. For a minute it didn’t seem like she was going to get an answer, but when he turned back to her he looked less furious and more tired. The anger was still there, but it was weaker now, like he’d been carrying it for a long time.

“I gave them everything,” he told her, voice a little choked. “I built them whatever they wanted, was always there when they needed me. But when I needed something? Suddenly they didn’t have time. If I got hurt, it was funny. If I fucked up, they never let me forget it.”

He turned away from her again to look out the window, taking a deep breath as he watched Golden Glider continue to skate on the frozen pond.

“They were terrible,” he concluded, with a bit more steel in his voice, “and I don’t have time for people like them anymore.”

“So they were lousy friends,” she argued as gently as she could. “You can have better friends. Especially if you turned in the Snart gang.”

He was still looking away from her, so she leaned in and put one hand on his arm.

“You’d be a hero.”

“A hero?” Psychotech turned to look at her sharply, glaring. “I’ve worked with heroes. I’ve worked with the CCPD; fuck, I’ve worked with the Flash!”

“The Flash?” she repeated in disbelief.

“Yes the Flash!” he hissed. “I saved his life, over and over, and he couldn’t lift a finger to help me! He used me, and the first chance he got he left me for dead.”

He was angry, but it was easy to see he wasn’t angry at her. He continued to glare for a moment, then turned away, staring straight ahead at the black screen of the TV. His eyes were wet, and he was blinking rapidly to clear them.

“I’m sorry,” she said, very quietly, and strangely she found that she meant it. She wasn’t sure what the Flash could possibly have done to him, but whatever it was it had hurt him deeply.

If she let herself forget the dying screams of her boss, she could almost feel sorry for him.

“Not Len though,” he continued after a moment, as though she hadn’t spoken. “Not Lisa. Hell not even Mick; he might love fire more than life itself but he’d never leave a member of our crew behind.”

He looked at his hands, and she fought the urge to reach out and touch his arm again.

“They use me?” he asked, then scoffed. “Maybe, but they use me better than anyone else ever has.”

“Having a little heart-to-heart?” came a smug, drawling voice that sent a chill down her spin. She whipped around to see Captain Cold standing in the doorway, leaning against the door frame with gun in hand.

“Len!” Psychotech exclaimed, dashing hurriedly at his eyes. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know you need this,” he replied simply, striding purposefully into the room.

He brushed carelessly past the chair on the way to the bed, forcing said chair’s occupant to jump up and make room for him. He didn’t sit down right away though; first he leaned over the bed and laid a bruising kiss on Psychotech’s lips. The younger man made a small noise of surprise, but swiftly relaxed and allowed his mouth to be plundered with a possessive hunger that left him panting and clutching at Cold’s shirt like a lifeline.

Cold took the nurse’s vacated seat, his eyes fixed on the blushing inventor who had collapsed back against his pillows.

“I thought I told you to let me worry about the Flash from now on,” Cold chastised without heat.

“Sorry,” said Psychotech automatically. “We were just talking. I got carried away.”

Cold turned steely eyes on the nurse.

“It’s not her fault,” Psychotech protested, grabbing at Cold’s sleeve. “I brought it up.”

Cold glanced at him briefly, then turned his attention back to her. “Our Psychotech has some self-esteem issues,” he explained, with the same cool detachment he’d used to describe the circumstances under which he’d start killing hostages. “Somehow I doubt getting all worked up about it is good for his recovery so the rules are these: no color commentary on our partnership, and no bringing up the Flash. Am I clear?”

She shook her head hurriedly. “Crystal.”

“Go take a walk,” he instructed, turning back to Psychotech. “Mick’s downstairs; go tell him the kid’s awake, then come straight back. Try to run and you’ll learn just how bad frostbite can get.”

“Len, don’t hurt her,” Psychotech whined, effectively covering up the little sob she couldn’t hold back. “She didn’t do anything.”

“And as long as she keeps that up I have no reason to hurt her,” Len told him, then threw a glance over his shoulder at her. “I believe I told you to do something?”

Trying not to cry, or think about the pictures she’d seen in various medical texts about frostbite, the sniffling nurse ran from the room.

***

“You didn’t have to,” Cisco told Len, refusing to say exactly what Len didn’t have to do.

“I did,” Len assured him as he leaned in for another kiss, slower and sweeter this time, which Cisco gave freely. "You need this,” he continued when they broke apart, “you get lost inside that head of yours when someone isn’t here to pull you back.”

Cisco didn’t really know what to say to that, so he leaned in for another kiss.

“You’re valuable,” Len whispered against his lips, and Cisco turned aside a few inches, feeling his face heat up.

“Stop,” he muttered, embarrassed.

“You’re valuable,” Len repeated, kissing Cisco’s cheek instead. “You’re smart, and talented, and you do the best work in Central City.”

“That’s not-”

“You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t true,” Len cut him off. “You know that.”

“Yeah,” Cisco sighed as Len pressed a trail of kisses along his jawline, feeling warmth spread slowly through him at knowing he was so important, so desired. “I know.”

“Don’t worry about the Flash,” Len ordered. “He didn’t see what he had until he squandered it, but his loss is my gain.”

Cisco sat up a little more, chasing Len’s touch, but then he sucked in a hissing breath as the movement sent pain shooting through his abdomen.

Len put a firm hand on his chest and pushed him gently back into the softness of the pillows.

“I don’t intend to make the same mistakes,” he said pointedly. “I’m not going to neglect you like he did.”

“You never have,” Cisco told him in a pained voice.

“You’re going to get better,” Len instructed, then smiled his sharp, predatory smile he usually reserved for setting eyes on a score for the first time. “You’re going to upgrade that gun of yours again and make Lisa some new toys. We’re going to plan our next job, and you’re going to come with us while we rob someone with too much money blind, and we’re all going to have a good time.”

“Yeah,” Cisco agreed, grinning back. “I like that plan.”

Len’s smile got even bigger, more predatory. Hungrier. “And when we get back I’m going to fuck you on a pile of money until you don’t remember you were ever anyone’s but ours.”

Cisco let out a shuddering breath as a jolt of excitement shot through him, making his skin prickle and his heart pick up its pace.

“Mm,” he said, beckoning Len down for another kiss, “I like that plan even more.”


End file.
